Unaccompanied
by Roses of Sharon
Summary: Two years ago, he walked out the door and away from her life. Now, when she’s finally ready to let him go, he’s back, demanding entrance into her life – and her heart. SasuSaku. Two Parts, Complete.
1. Un

Summary: He walked away from her two years ago

Disclaimer: I do not own _Naruto. _

Summary: He walked away from her two years ago. Now, when she's finally ready to let him go, he's back, demanding entrance into her life – and her heart. SasuSaku.

Unaccompanied

Un of Deux

"I'm leaving, Sakura."

"Oh, that's good," she responds brightly, looking up from the magazine she is perusing. "Pick me up some brown sugar on your way, would you? I want to make cookies, but I'm all out."

A pause.

"I'm _leaving_, Sakura."

The smile slips from her face, and she grants him a confused look, "You said that already. What do you mean?" A short trot, and she's in front of him, hand reaching up to his forehead, "Are you feeling alright?"

He brushes her hand away, the movement brusque, and, almost, gentle.

"Sasuke-kun?"

He fixes her with that dark, impenetrable gaze. "I'm _leaving_, Sakura."

Shock. Denial.

"No," she whispers. "I don't understand what you mean. Sasuke, you… what are you doing? Why?"

He grabs his bag – long packed, she sees – and swirls the long leather duster over his shoulder, jamming his feet into his boots. His eyes are bleak and empty as he turns back to look at her. "Good-bye, Sakura," he says, and reaches for the doorknob.

Her small, delicate hands fist in the back of his shirt, stopping him from moving. "Please, Sasuke-kun," she finally manages, voice trembling, forcing its way past the block in her throat. "Don't go. I love you. Please. Please, Sasuke-kun. I'm begging. Don't… don't leave me."

He closes his eyes, briefly, in indecision or annoyance, she cannot tell – and for a second, she hopes.

And he turns the doorknob, and steps out of her grip, into the night.

"Good-bye, Sakura," he says, and she wonders what she did, what went wrong, and she realizes, _nothing. _Nothing went wrong. It was him, it was always him; she had given him everything, had offered him _everything_, and he had accepted it and now he was throwing it back in her face.

She steps up to the door, dashes away her tears. "Fine, Sasuke," she says, voice cold, though trembling. "Leave. See if I care what the hell you do. See if I give a flying fuck what the hell you do with the rest of your damn life. See if I care. I hate you, you hear? I _hate _you. I hope I never see your face _again!_"

He pauses. Tenses.

She tries not to care. She _wants _to hurt him, even half as much as he has hurt her.

He turns back, sees her, out of the corner of his eye.

"Very well," he finally says.

"I get the house," she spits at him, "the furniture, and the cats. I get _everything._"

She turns and walks into the house. He turns and walks down the street.

One of them cries.

The other gets drunk.

"Oh, ow…" the pink-haired woman lifts her head off her desk, rubbing her temples. Sighing, she gatheres the stack of reports from her desk, wishing she could just _go home already_.

"Hey, forehead, I don't think slamming that huge forehead of yours against the table is going to help any."

Sakura sticks her tongue childishly at her best friend, "I fell asleep, Ino-pig. _You _try pulling six shifts and three hours overtime on two hours of sleep, alright?" She finishes the rest of the reports, whining, "And that lecture Tsunade-shishou had me give? I suddenly feel for any professors who had us."

Ino walks the rest of the way through the door, revealing a large bouquet of cosmos and a steaming latte. Teasingly, she waves the latte in front of Sakura, letting the fumes waft up her nose.

Sakura's eyes narrow threateningly, "Ino-pig, if you say I can't have that, I swear I will start charging you for all those headache medications I've been prescribing for you."

Ino laughs, carefree and strong, "No problem, forehead – this cup is for you. I've got to go deliver these cosmos." She shudders theatrically, whispering, "I'll bet that these are an apology."

Sakura giggles, green eyes drifting to the bouquet as rosebud lips sipped at the steaming drink.

Ino sighs, frustrated beyond belief, "Are you still thinking of him? Sakura, you've got to get over him! I mean, come on, it's been three years!"

"Two," Sakura responds, quietly. "Its only been two."

"And," she belatedly adds, "I'm definitely over him."

The moment of silence following her statement expresses her friend's feelings completely, but the blonde finally asks, "You want to get a drink tonight?"

Sakura rolls viridian eyes in her direction, "Did you not just see me? I need _sleep_, not a hangover. Anyways, Tsunade-shishou thinks I should give more lectures at the University and let some deserving interns and students into my surgeries, so I need to, you know, touch up a bit."

Ino's face falls, almost comically, "But if you're not there, who'll drag my drunken ass home?"

Sakura rolls her eyes heavenward, "So _that's _why you wanted me along. Hate to break it to you, darling, but the next time I go out with you, _you're _going to be the designated driver."

Ino sends her friend a fleeting, white-toothed grin, "Whatever, forehead-chan. You get some sleep tonight, yeah? I don't think the bags beneath your eyes are helping anything. And trust me, sweetling," she added with a wink, "you need the help."

Sakura simply nodded, too exhausted to send any barbs back, and Ino went her way as Sakura slowly stuffed her things into her bag, and managed to ooze down the hallway to the elevator. She leaned against the elevator wall, briefly closing her eyes as the elevator dropped.

"Hag?"

Her eyes struggled open. "Sai. Whoa, sorry, I'm just really tired. Didn't see you."

Sai blinked, "Whoa, Hag. You shouldn't skip so much sleep. You know, you really don't need to help your ugliness along any more than you already have."

She waved him off, "Yeah, yeah; what are you doing here, anyways?" The man – so similar to Sasuke-kun – shrugged. "Eh, here to see a relative. A bit annoying – you know how it is. I've seen him twice in my life, but since I live here…"

Sakura nodded sympathetically, smothering a yawn, "Yeah… once, my third cousin twice removed got into a motorcycle accident on I-98. Guess what I got stuck doing?"

As Sai stared at her, the bell dinged and she stepped out into the lobby, smothering yet another yawn and trying to force some cheerfulness into her voice, "Bye, Sai! Have fun visiting!"

She turned, gave a jaw-splitting yawn, and began the trek down the hall. Footsteps behind her made her halt, turning around. "Eh, Sai?"

He gave her a look, "Where did you think I was going? I already visited, now I'm leaving."

"Oh," she blinked. "Oh."

They began walking again, slowly. "Hey, how was this relative?" The onyx-eyed man beside her shrugged, "He had checked himself out as soon as he woke up."

The sense of déjà vu overcame Sakura, and she gripped the strap of her bag tightly.

When she spoke, her voice was rigid, "Sasuke used to do that. All the time. I always told him…"

She bade him a hasty farewell, eager to get out of his sight, pushing open the doors and trotting, heels clicking against asphalt, to her car.

"Oh, damn," she breathed. "Oh, damn."

Tiredly, she stuck her key into the keyhole, twisting it hard to the left and jiggling it a little. The lock clicked shut, and she frowned, muttering to herself, "I could have _sworn_ I locked the door…" She twisted the key back, and pushed the door open, stepping in and slipping off her heels.

A cat came bounding up to her, twining sinuously about her ankles. "Hey, Sachi," she crooned, reaching down to rub her ear, "I'm glad to be home, too. Now, where's Sayuri? Is she hiding again?" The cat purred, pressing a wet nose to her toe, and she grinned, "Oh, you're a _good _girl, you are." With one last pat on the head for her companion, she straightened and walked toward the kitchen, smothering another yawn.

"Sayuri?" she called. "Sayuri! Come on, sweetling. Come on… Mommy loves you, and she's tired and wants to say good…"

Her voice trailed off as she walked into her living room. Sayuri, sure enough, was on the couch. What stopped her was the pale hand stroking her ears.

A pale hand connected to the arm of The Ex.

_Oh, shit. _

Quickly, she rubbed her eyes, ignoring the mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow she was probably smearing all over the place. No way.

Apparently, yes way.

She snapped her jaw shut, glaring as hard as she could, "What are you doing here?" He flinched, almost unnoticeably, and it hurt like heck that he was here, but she _was getting over him, dammit! _"I told you I never wanted to see you again. Ever. I _hate _you. What are you doing in my house?"

"Ours," he said, softly.

"Mine," she said. "You gave up any rights to it when you _walked out on me. _Get _out _of my house, Sasuke. In fact, get out of my life!"

"Hm," he said, uncharacteristically pliant. "I just came for some things. Just let me get my things."

She looked at him, stomped over to slap her hand on his forehead. His eyes slowly focused on her, and, to her shock, he fell into her arms.

"Sasuke?" she asked, worried despite herself.

He groaned, and she slowly slid to the floor. "Sasuke, this isn't funny. Sasuke?"

Her voice rose, and she quickly dropped him to the floor, turning to scramble for the lights. A hand gripped her ankle, and she slipped, barely catching herself on the palms of her hands. "What the hell, Sasuke?" she panted, catching her breath after the shock. "What was that?"

She twisted around to glare at him, only to find that his eyes were still closed, his grasping hand now slack. Slowly, she stood up again, and then took a step away from him. Immediately, his hand swiped out to catch her ankle, yanking her closer.

She turned, glared, and shook his shoulder as hard as she dared, "Sasuke… Sasuke? Sasuke! Sasuke-kun!" His eyes slid open, slowly, "Sakura…" He blinked once, twice, "Sakura? Is this a dream? Heaven? Are we dead?" Panic flashed across his hazy eyes, "Sakura… you aren't dead. You can't be dead. He promised me… he promised!"

As much as she hated herself for it, Sakura finally slid down besides him, wrapping her arms around his trembling form. "Shush, Sasuke. I'm not dead, and neither are you," she said, slowly, as if to a child. His hands gripped her shirt and he stared at her with something akin to worship in his eyes, "This is a dream, then. Please don't let me wake up."

Sakura's heart clenched, and she squeezed his midriff. "Sleep, Sasuke."

He obeyed her, burying his face in her chest, slowly drifting into sleep. Sakura lay awake, no longer tired, running her fingers through his hair; thinking of what he had said to her.

There were very few conclusions she could draw. Either he loved her, or he didn't and was playing her for a fool. And someone – someone important, someone threatening – had promised him that she would live.

But why? Why would he need this promise; and if he loved her, why did he leave?

Yet… Sasuke, _her _Sasuke, at least, wasn't one to toy with her emotions. Ignore her for weeks on end, yes. Forget anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's, Christmas; definitely. But to toy with her was cruel, and she believed – she _wanted _to believe – that he wouldn't do that.

A soft moan drew her attention. Sasuke.

She didn't know what to make of him. Why was he saying these things? Doing this? Why was he ever here?

He always was a different man when he was tired and half-asleep like this. Nice, almost. Loving.

And then he'd wake up, and everything would go back to the way it had been before, as if he had never opened up to her, as if he had never said the things he did.

"Before" being, in this case, away from her.

He whimpered, as if sensing her thoughts, and she brushed a kiss across his forehead. A shadow of a smile formed on his lips, his face turning up to her like a leaf to the sun, and she turned her gaze away.

He hadn't ever shown her he cared, never showed her that he needed her; not like she had. Ever day, she had smiled at him, held him, loved him. She had shared everything with him, and gotten nothing in return – not even a smile.

Not when he had asked her out for the first time, and she had agreed. Not on dates. Not the first time she'd cooked for him. Not when he proposed. Not, even, when she offered him her virginity – a thing meant for marriage, she had believed, but she had believe, also, in him.

A tear squeezed its way out of her eye, burning a path down her cheek. Furiously, she scrubbed at it, only to find more tears dripping. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Why now?"

A hard, callused hand reached for her, gently turning her face to him. "Don't cry," he muttered. "I hate it when you cry."

She recoiled. "That's rich," she snapped, "seeing as how you're the one who makes me cry."

"Tomorrow," she decided, "you can go right back to whatever it is you were doing for the past two years. You could never offer me anything before, not even something as small as a _smile_, and I sure as hell don't think you'll be able to now."

His eyes were wounded, pleading, and she let go of him, looking over the top of his head. _Why _did he always have to do this to her?

His voice breaks her out of her reverie, "I have _too _smiled for you."

She snorts, dragging herself away from him to lean against the couch. "Yeah, Sasuke. I think I would definitely remember if you ever smiled at me, seeing as how I've never seen it happen before, like, ever. Not once. Not one indication that you ever cared. _Puh-lease_, Sasuke. Try not to pretend like you care."

"I cared," he responds finally, voice strained.

"You _left _me, Sasuke. That really shows how much you care," she bites out.

"I had to!" he finally says, half-rising. Pain flashes across his eyes, and he slowly slumps down again, clutching at his side.

She uses all her willpower in an effort to restrain herself from rushing to his side, but she finds herself there anyways, removing his hand and lifting up his shirt.

She hisses, a quick intake of breath accompanied by a widening of her eyes. "Oh, Sasuke-kun," she finally breathes out. "What did you do to yourself?"

He lets out a harsh bark of laughter, "Do to myself? I _freed _myself."

She narrows her eyes at him, voice deathly still, "_What are you talking about, Sasuke?"_

Another harsh bark of laughter, incriminating and mocking – not her, she thinks, but himself. "You want to know?" He's furious, now, and she wonders why he – why it always has to be about him. Never about her. Never about Haruno (_maybe could have been Uchiha_) Sakura, always about Uchiha Sasuke.

Why he is allowed to be what he is, and she loves him for it, but he never could love her.

"No," she says angrily, drawing her hands away from him. "No, Sasuke; I don't want to know. There, are you happy? Are you happy, you bastard? _I don't care._ How does that feel? Now you know how I feel, every second of every day because _you left me and you don't care and you never did_. So fine. I don't care. Happy now? Happy that you've finally broken me – made me never care again?

"Thanks, Sasuke," she says, voice dripping in sarcasm. "I hope you're happy."

He's in shock, for a moment, she can see that in his wide eyes – and then he closes himself up, locks himself in that little blank shell, and she's furious at him _again._ She closes her eyes, biting the words out, "Because, Uchiha Sasuke, _I'm not yours._"

"_You're mine, you know," he said, toying with long strands of bubblegum-pink hair. "I know," she giggled back huskily, wrapping her bare legs around his. "But in case I forget, why don't you remind me?" _

There it is, the reaction she had hoped for, the memory – painful and beautiful in equal parts, since he left – brought to the surface.

"You are _mine_," he snarls, eyes flickering red.

She swallows, quickly, and it hurts her to continue, but she does. "That's right, Uchiha. Not yours. Do you want to hear how that came about? I think I was drunk, actually. The first time, at least. After that," she shrugged, "a wise girl kisses but doesn't love, Sasuke-_kun_."

Lies. All of them. She hasn't kissed a single man since he left, not even when she was drunk. He doesn't know that, though. And it pleases her, though it hurts.

His face is taking up her vision, and she can see that he is still perfect – perfect like she isn't. "You are _mine_," he snarls, again, and then he's kissing her, passionate and biting and hurting and _this isn't how she imagined it, this isn't how it's supposed to be._

She had dreamed about this, she thinks, as she pushes him away and stumbles back, trying to hide the sudden fear in her eyes. She had dreamed that he would come back, and he would explain, and he would love her – _love _her.

She reaches up to touch her swollen lips, and she's looking at him, but she doesn't _see _anymore. "Oh, God," she whispers, and it's a prayer and a hope and a wish and a shattered dream. "Oh, God."

She reaches behind herself, gropes for the wall, and _runs. _

It hurts, and she's afraid. Why? Why did he come back and feed her pretty words and assurances of his love when this was all he had to offer – this was all he had for her? Biting kisses, filled not with love but anger and hatred and lust.

This isn't how it's supposed to be, she thinks, and glances around wildly. The stairs, she thinks, and runs for them – the wide, curving staircase that she had fallen in love with when they bought the house together. She tosses a glance over her shoulder, and she doesn't _think _he's following her – but then, why would he?

She laughs, bitterly, tossing her head back and gasping for air. Why did he come back at all? Probably because he didn't want to go to a hospital. Probably just because he knew she was a doctor.

She stops as if slammed into a wall. Sai. She had never asked his last name, he had never offered it. He looked _exactly _like Sasuke. And… and, family. She reached for the wall, her head reeling. What was the meaning of this?

Tears rushed to her eyes and she dashed them away angrily, her gaze settling on the first door to her left. She reached for it, and then, suddenly, snatched her hand back. Not this room. But the others were further down the hall, and she needed somewhere to hide _now! _Gulping, she yanked the door open, slipping in and shutting it softly behind her.

This room… she hadn't come here in so long, ever since he had left and she had decided that, to her, that room was nothing.

He wouldn't follow her, right? Quickly, she lowers herself to press her ear against the cold wood. Nothing. A sigh of relief and a meaningless stab of hurt, and she gets up, hurriedly, scurries to the bathroom. A yawn – her sleepiness was catching up to her, wasn't it? Tired. She glimpses herself in the bathroom mirror and sways, eyelids slipping shut.

Forcing herself awake, she grabs onto the doorjamb. Strong arms catch her, and she almost hears him whisper, with that particular hitch in his voice that she never could understand, "Sleep, Sakura," and even softer, "It's going to be alright."

She struggles to awareness to feel him place her softly in the bed, then work the covers around her until she is covered. His comforting weight settles on the other end, and she is relieved – disappointed – that he makes no move to lie down. She remembers the nights they spent together, the way he pulled her to himself, almost possessively, as if promising to protect her from whatever haunted her at night.

Those were the best nights of her life.

"It's not alright," she says, as she slips off into slumber.

"Tomorrow," she dimly hears him promise.


	2. Deux

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

Disclaimer: I do not own _Naruto. _

Summary: Two years ago, he walked out the door and away from her life. Now, when she's finally ready to let him go, he's back, demanding entrance into her life – and her heart. SasuSaku.

Unaccompanied

Deux of Deux

Morning comes like a dream, beautiful and bright and unassuming. Half asleep still, Sakura's arms stretch across the bed, seeking… she sat up, green eyes flashing open in shock as the events of the night before remind of her their existence. _Sasuke-kun. Sai. The kiss. Sasuke-kun!_

With a start, she pushes herself out of the bed. The white sheets and the navy blue comforter with the striped pillows they chose together are rumpled on both sides of the bed, and she hates the view (with the white hot intensity of a thousand burning suns and possible more).

But the bed is empty, and she cannot stop the rush of loss flooding through her – loss of hope and the shattering of a dream and the knowledge that _this is it_ and _it is over_ and _he is gone_.

She realizes her foolishness now, realizes that she had always hoped that he would return, of his own volition. She thinks of all the times she made two portions of his favorite dinners and sat down to dinner by herself and all the times she would rush home after work and leave her shoes a space away from the wall, because _he _would always put his shoes right next to the wall, and hang her coat on the second hanger because his always goes in the first and…

Now it is over. That dream. It is _over_.

Walking into the bathroom – unused for two years, and dusty – she wonders how she could ever have believed it. Of course it wouldn't be the same. Of course he wouldn't just come back to her.

But last night… for one long, sparkling moment, she had _believed _in him. Blindly, as she did once. Blind belief in his love for her, even though he'd never once shown it; blind trust that he would never hurt her, that he would always protect her.

And yet… her fingertips rise toward bruised lips, and she remembers that kiss – biting and harsh and _condemning_ and what right does he have to that? What right does he have to be angry with _her_ when he was the one who left?

In an angry motion, she sweeps the cosmetics – two years outdated – off the counter to the floor, the pretty glass bottles he once bought and placed in their bathroom with the single-mindedness that so often possessed him shattering. And then she slides to the floor, head in hands, and _screams_.

She could have lived if he had never come back. She could have gone on doing her duty and her job and going out with her friends and subconsciously looking for his face in the crowds. She could have done it.

So why did he come back? Was he really so cruel as to have to break into her stupid little daydream and prove that he wasn't the man she thought she loved, the man she would have married, the one who… the one who would have protected her with everything he had, the one who held her when she slept and didn't know what to do when she cried but stood there and held out the hypoallergenic tissues?

Pounding feet cross the floor of what used to be their room, but she is oblivious to it all as he crosses the floor quickly, fragments of glass cutting into his feet. He kneels beside her for one long moment, and the pain encompassing her is almost tangible, a cloud expanding to cover him. "Sakura," he murmurs, helpless.

His voice pierces through her haze, and she looks up, the tears evident on her face. "You…" she whispers, and he cowers in front of her, this strong man who she could so easily destroy. "You're here," she tells him, and he nods.

There is a long silence as she stares at him as though trying to find something in his face, something that will prove his sincerity to her, something that will prove to her that, yes, he is real, and he is here.

He breaks it, hesitantly. "You allowed me to stay the night. I promised you… I promised that I would explain everything today."

"Really?" she sneers, "Was that before or after you broke into my house?" _My heart_, she adds, silently, even though it shouldn't be true.

He averts his eyes, and she is furious at this new tactic. "I don't expect you to trust me," he says, carefully. "And I can't explain everything to you, but-"

Her hand swings out to catch his cheek, and his head snaps to the side. Expressionless, he turns his head back to look at her. "How can you say that?" It is a scream, loud and furious and _broken_, and he realizes that she is _begging_. "How can you just come back and tell me that you have _nothing_, that you can do _nothing _for me? Make me believe, damn you! Make me believe that…"

She trails off, or maybe she is broken off, but Sasuke's face is so near to her own, and his eyes are swimming in unidentifiable emotions. "I'm begging you," he says, and his voice cracks right down the middle. "Let me finish… let me explain." The tears are springing to her (luminescent, large, beautiful) eyes again, and he is sure that they could break him if she tried.

She rubs furiously at the tears trailing down her cheeks, and his eyes are drawn to her, to her bruised lips and blotchy face, and he is faced, suddenly, with a realization. An epitome. He _hurt _her, one of the few things he would have given everything to protect, everything to prevent. "I'm sorry," he breathes, and stands. "I shouldn't have come back. It was… unforgivable, what I did. I…" He's stepping away, walking backwards over broken glass, and Sakura looks up to see the blood dripping from his feet.

"Stop!" she cries, and he looks up, surprised. "Don't…" her voice falters, and she cannot believe she is telling him this. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I did everything for you," he says, eyes piercing through the tiled floor. "This can't hurt any more."

But he is more careful, now. He turns and picks his way across the floor, leaving her wide-eyed and open-mouthed in his wake. She stands, unsteadily, and chases after him, wanting beyond anything to know what he means. Reaching towards him, she trips over nothing, and she braces herself for the feel of cool glass slicing through skin.

A warm hand catches her, and pulls her upright. She looks up into his taut face, and she smiles in relief, "Sasuke-kun." For a moment they stand there, and she is dazzled by his perfection, his strength, his protection. She had once thought that there was nowhere as safe as where he was, and it is true, and she knows that she cannot survive it if he leaves again.

"Tell me," she says. "Tell me why you left. Make me believe that it was for the best."

So he does. He settles her on their bed and tells her, expressionlessly, a story about a foolish little boy who believed that he had to surpass his older brother no matter what. He tells her of a pact that boy had made, with a man who promised him everything, without questioning what he had to give in return. He tells her, briefly, that the boy grew up and that his brother left and that the boy was left without purpose, only an overwhelming debt to a man he knew nothing about.

And there he stops, and her curious green eyes rove over his face in wonder. This is a strange story, and strange occurrence, and she isn't quite sure what to think of it – of him. It cannot be possible. It _should not _be possible.

And yet, looking him in the eyes, she would have sworn that he could not be lying. "And then?" she asks, voice soft and questioning.

"I found you," he replies. It's not quite a declaration of love and life-long devotion, but it is more than she had ever expected. She begins to smile up at him, full and loved and beautiful, and he stares emotionlessly down at her. Quickly, she looks away, silently berating herself. What was she thinking? This was _Sasuke_. He _left_ her.

Clinging to that thought, to the memory of the bruising kiss and the chase through their – _her _– house and the pain when he left her, she glares up at him. "Where have you been?" she asks.

If he can answer this question, she decides, it will be enough.

But for one long moment, he doesn't answer, and she despairs. It was stupid to hope that he would be coming back for good. It was stupid to believe.

She stands, and she thinks that she will never be able to wash he bloodstains out of the carpet. "You can stay for tonight, Sasuke," she says. "You may leave tomorrow morning."

"No," he says, just as she is about to cross into the hall. "I've done _everything _to come back to you, and I'm not leaving you now." His voice is hard, and so cold that she can feel the chill. She grips the frame of the door with bloodless fingers, and forces herself to hate him. "You lie," she says, even though she is sure, in her heart, that he speaks the truth. And then she leaves.

That afternoon she spends in her room, sobbing over their pictures, where she believes that she can spot just the barest gleam of happiness and warmth and love, and wonders what happened.

Sometime around midnight, she stops crying only to realize that she is hungry. She is almost afraid to leave her room – she knows that, if she were to meet him, her resolve would crumble and she would beg him to stay. She must not.

But she is _– oh – _so hungry, and this is her house. So she stands and almost noiselessly crosses her room to the door. She stands there for a moment, listening, and then she carefully swings it open. To the side of the door is a shadow, and for a moment she lets it pass as nothing; her eyes adjust to the dark and she realizes that it is _him_.

He is sleeping, she thinks, and his face is far from peaceful. For a moment, vindictively, she thinks that he deserves it. But then his features twist in something close to desperation and her name comes from his lips. "Sakura," he begs. "Don't leave me." And a tear streaks down his cheek, the first she has ever seen him shed, and she thinks that it is all because of her.

And before she knows it, she is settling down beside him, arms around her knees and shoulder against his. He flinches from her touch, at first, and then his face blindly turns toward her. "Sakura," he murmurs. He has always been affectionate when asleep. "I knew you wouldn't leave me."

When her eyes open the next morning, he is watching her, eyes alight in something akin to joy. It fades as she stands, brushing off her jeans, and says to him, "Farewell." She stands and begins to walk away, and for the first time ever, he is the one to call at after her.

"Sakura," he says, and his voice holds some of the raw desperation that was so evident the night before. "I want to tell you what I've been doing for these past two years."

It stops her in her tracks, but he continues. "But before I do… I promise you, I meant everything that I have ever done with you."

And this story is different, and not only because he tells it to her back. This story isn't about a foolish boy. It is about a man who made the wrong decisions, and is forced to pay for them. It is about a man, far too proud to apologize and beg, and who must pay his debts to a man not at all afraid to abuse him.

It is a savage tale, of a world that exists within hers, where people fight and kill and die passionately, furiously, horribly. And it tells of a man who killed coldly. Emotionlessly. Ceaselessly.

"Tell me," she asks him, after it is evident that he is finished. "Did you ever… did you ever feel anything for those you killed?"

"Every one," he tells her, fervently, and her voice is full of tears when she responds. "Then _why _did you do it? Couldn't you have just… just let it go? Refused to kill? What was it that made it worth it to you."

This is the part of his story that could break her or heal her, and she waits guiltily for his answer.

"I did it for you," he says, finally. "I did it because he said… he said that you would live. That he would protect you."

"You killed for me," she murmurs. There is real guilt here, now. Guilt and a strange kind of pleasure, that he loved… cared for her so much that he would kill for her. But… "I have been the cause of so many deaths."

He turns his face away, though she cannot see it. "I did not want to tell you."

She doesn't hear him, maybe, or doesn't acknowledge his words. "People have died for me."

There is fury in him, now, fury that he gave so much for her and she does not see it. He gave away his body, his _soul_. He became the killer of an utterly heartless man, and she does not see the sacrifice it took. She does not see the absolute pain it caused him to walk away from her that day.

And why is it that he has always seen her, every single day since he met her, and she does not see him?

"You're a murderer," she says, and he flinches. "You've killed so many people."

"Yes," he agrees, because it is true. And on some level he deserves the condemnation that she is giving him, but he had always believed… had always believed that when he came back, she would welcome him home. There would be explanations, of course, but she would still love him. Would still care for him.

He had come running to her across half a world, and all she could say to him was farewell.

"And it was all I could do to survive. But you know what? I survived for you. I lived for you. Every time I thought I could just lie down and _die_, it was you that kept me going. You that I lived for, every moment of every day. I dreamed of you. I dreamed that those two years would end, and that I could come back to you.

"I dreamed that you would welcome me back. I knew that you would be angry," he adds, advancing on her motionless form with every word, "But I thought you would forgive me. I thought you could always forgive me. That's what _you _promised, isn't it? That you would be on my side, always."

Her green eyes close, tears clinging to low eyelashes. She had. She had promised him… And she had stayed on his side, always! She had always defended him when her friends spoke badly of him, and she had allowed his friends to hate her, not him. Wasn't that enough? Wasn't it _enough_?

"You're one to talk about promises," she hissed. "When you broke every single one you ever made to me. Hell, you never even talked about _promises_. Probably because you didn't want to be bound to keeping them! Get out of my house, Uchiha Sasuke!"

And with that, she flees, running from him and his selfishness and his _male stupidity _and… why can't he see _her_?

But he chases her, this time, and when he catches her – as he inevitably will – it is over. She is slammed against the wall, a shout tearing itself from her lips. "Is that all you think of me, Sakura? Is that all you can give me? I kill for you, I die for you, and it is never enough, is it? Tell me. Did it never occur to you that maybe I _wanted _to promise you the world? That maybe, just maybe, I loved you more than I have ever loved anyone in my entire life?

"Tell me, Sakura. Are you sorry that I survived?"

There is fury and despair and everything in between in her voice, but still she cannot lie to him, not when they are face to face like this. "No," she says, softly.

It is like pouring cold water over him, and his eyes open wide, guilt and sorrow warring in his features. "Sakura," he says. "Oh god, Sakura."

She stays where he has left her, cowering against the wall, and he staggers backwards, before reaching out a trembling hand to touch her face. She flinches, eyes burning into his, and, almost frantically, he stretches toward her, as if to assure himself that she is real. Is alive. Is there.

She flinches again, infinitesimally, and he immediately withdraws his hand, still trembling. "I'm sorry," he pleads. "I'm so sorry."

She looks at him, his trembling form standing before her as if he had lost the thing most precious to him in the world, and briefly she tells herself to be happy. She has finally broken him, as he has broken her, and he deserves it. But she watches him, and she cannot help but love him, feeling his pain as her own.

She cannot stand to watch him like this, not the strong man who has always protected her, even during his absence. Slowly, the pinkhaired woman takes one step towards him, then another. He backs away from her touch with something like panic n his face, but she reaches out towards him and pulls his body toward hers.

For a moment, he fights her – she only holds on even more tightly. And then his arms come up around her, and he grips her back, just as tightly as she is holding him. He buries his face in the crook of her shoulder, and he _cries_, silently and fiercely.

It is a long while before she pushes him away, and then she looks him in the eye and tells him that _it is not fair_. He blinks, twice, and she thinks he is misunderstanding her. "It isn't fair," she clarifies, "that I must always be the comforter. Sometimes, I need you, too. And you're never there."

"I will be," he says fervently, grasping at the chance she has offered him. "I will be there."

She shakes her head, mournful, "How can I believe that?"

There is a pause, and then he speaks. "Give me a chance, and I will prove it to you. I _promise_."

It is strange that a promise would be enough, but it is. It is, more than enough, and, once again, she puts all her hope and faith and trust in him and lets him slide the diamond ring – buried so long in her closet – on her finger.

She can only hope that he will not fail her, not this time.

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**Rosie's Notes**: Wow, thanks for all the support for this, everyone! I'm actually not very pleased with the ending, considering the absolute 'mazingness of everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story, but I thank you all so much! Imagine my (supreme, unending, eternal, everlasting) joy when I found all those reviews/alerts in my inbox that first day.

**Rosie's Notes II**: Thanks to _les-liaisons-dangereuses _for pointing out that I'm absolutely, completely unclear (and somewhat contradictory) on whether Sasuke and Sakura are married. I'm taking the opportunity now to say that they _are not_ married, just engaged for quite a while and living together.


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